Your mom has a whole week. You hear about ten minutes of it.
Sonny calls your mom for a real conversation. You get the parts of her week she'd never tell you on a Sunday call.
Not happy after the first few calls? Full refund. No questions asked.
Sonny calls your mom for a real conversation. You get the parts of her week she'd never tell you on a Sunday call.
Not happy after the first few calls? Full refund. No questions asked.
At a time they choose, Sonny calls for a warm, personal conversation about their life, their memories, and the small stuff most people forget to ask about. They just pick up the phone.
Sonny remembers past calls, so each day gets more personal. It's not a survey or a check-in. It's a real relationship that deepens with every conversation.
A warm note from Sonny about the moments that mattered, plus what to ask her about next time.
I built Sonny because of a Tuesday I can't forget.
I told myself I'd call my grandma after work. Then the day got away from me. I had to pick up Alex from the train station, walk our dog Stevie, cook dinner. By the time I sat down, it was too late to call.
That turned into another week. Then two.
When I finally called, she said she was fine. She's always fine. But I wasn't asking the right questions. I didn't have the energy to say "Tell me about when you and Poppy Sam first moved to Florida." Even though I loved those stories. Even though I knew she loved telling them.
So I built Sonny. Not to replace my calls. To fill the gaps when life gets in the way. When work and the dog and dinner all need me, Sonny calls her. They talk. She tells her stories. And I get a message that fills me in on the parts of her week I'd never hear otherwise.
"Hey! Just got off the phone with Roz. She was in great spirits, lots of warmth in her voice the whole time. She ended up telling me this incredible story about going to New York with her husband years ago and visiting the top of the Empire State Building. They had one of those guest books where you sign your name and write your first impressions, and he signed it before she did. When she went to write her own remarks, she saw he'd written 'I love you' in the last column. You could hear her light up telling it. Next time you could ask her if she remembers what she ended up writing in her own column, or if they kept a copy of the page."
The small things she mentioned this week. The kind you'd never hear on a Sunday call.
A message after every call, like a friend who just hung up with her wanted to fill you in.
Something to actually ask her about the next time you talk.
A friendly voice that calls every single day
Someone who remembers their stories and asks follow-ups
No apps, no logins, no learning curve
Something to look forward to every morning
If the first few calls aren't what you hoped for, we'll refund you in full.
Mom Would Love This